


The Troubles in Raising a Cockatusaurus

by language_escapes



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/language_escapes/pseuds/language_escapes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan just wants to sleep.  Presbury the cockatusaurus has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Troubles in Raising a Cockatusaurus

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Holocene Park](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253183) by [sanguinity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/pseuds/sanguinity). 



> Written way back when for sanguinity, who commented that she wanted fic about Presbury the cockatusaurus (from her fic Holocene Park) based around this video: http://deafdestroya.tumblr.com/post/124714006761
> 
> This fic will basically make no sense if you haven't read Holocene Park. Which you should get on ASAP, because it's brilliant.

“I’m going to shoot her,” Joan mumbles into her pillow. “I’m going to shoot her, and I won’t even feel bad about it.”

It’s a lie, of course. A dirty, dirty lie. She’d feel terrible. But still.

Presbury has been shrieking into a little toy cup for hours now. Hours.

It started after dinner, when Sherlock left the empty cup on the parlour floor (a toy cup being the only clean dish left in the house, and thank God Ms. Hudson is coming by tomorrow) struck by a sudden epiphany about their case and too distracted to bother cleaning up his dishes. Joan had taken her dishes downstairs, mindful of helping Ms. Hudson when she can. Sherlock lives in the brownstone too, and can clean up after himself, so she leaves his dishes where they are.

She’d heard the first shriek while rinsing spaghetti off her plate. She hadn’t thought much about it- Presbury screams quite a bit, she’s a cockatuosaur, it’s to be expected- other than noting that it sounded different.

When she’d gone upstairs and seen Presbury holding cup with one talon, her crest puffed up high in excitement, she’d thought it was… cute, really. Presbury had looked over when she walked in, bobbed her head up and down for a bit, and then gone back to her cup.

She had joined Sherlock in the lock room, and they’d found another key element to their case, although it still wasn’t enough to actually sole it. Presbury had screamed the entire time.

“She’s rather… loud, isn’t she?” Sherlock had asked, wincing.

Joan had nodded stoically. If Presbury wants to play, then she’s not going to stop her. Normally, Presbury needs a lot of attention (they’ve gotten plenty of stares from Marcus and Captain Gregson when they’ve showed up at the station, Presbury in tow and chirping excitedly), and having her entertain herself for an hour or two? Well, she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

That was four hours ago. She’s ready to take the gift horse out back and shoot it.

When Presbury shrieks yet again, Joan bolts upright, done. She loves Presbury dearly, and understands that she needs to play, but it is two in the morning and she needs her sleep and she is going to throw that cup out the window, with possibly a brief interlude to throw it first at Sherlock’s head.

When she walks into the parlour, though, she finds she needn’t have bothered getting up. She’s greeted with the sight of Sherlock wrestling with Presbury, who has a very firm grip on his arm with her beak, one talon still clutching the cup that Sherlock is trying to wrench away from her.

“Let go,” Sherlock hisses quietly, clearly thinking that Joan is somehow asleep through all of this. “Ow, stop it- Presbury! Stop it this instant!”

Joan puts a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. The great Sherlock Holmes, defeated by a cockatuosaurus. She wishes she had thought to grab her phone- she’s sure Marcus would love a video of this.

“Presbury!” Sherlock scolds again, and Presbury lets go of his arm long enough to let out a piercing “No!” before latching back onto him, picking a new spot this time. “No” is one of Presbury’s favourite words.

It’s probably time to step in. Joan walks further into the parlour, and spreads her hands out. “Presbury,” she coos gently. “Presbury, sing for momma?”

Presbury stills, beak still attached to Sherlock’s arm. She sees one beady eye watching her, and then, in a flurry of movement, Presbury lets go of Sherlock, drops the cup, and waddles her way over to Joan, splaying her crest upwards and singing a warbling note.

Joan smiles.

“Higher power indeed,” Sherlock mumbles, scooping up the toy cup quickly.

Joan listens to Presbury’s song for a while as Sherlock goes downstairs, presumably (hopefully) to throw away the cup. She rubs Presbury’s feathers gently, and considers her.

“You’re a good girl, Presbury,” she says softly, irritation forgotten for the moment. “Good girl.”

Presbury bobs her head, agreeing with a bright, happy, squawk.


End file.
